


Besotted

by tozz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tozz/pseuds/tozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is he… <i>gay?"</i> Molly and John have a little chat in the morgue one day about Sherlock. </p>
<p>Takes place early Series 1. One-sided Molly/Sherlock, with a pinch of John/Sherlock and a dash of John/Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Besotted

**Author's Note:**

> I adore Molly. I adore John. I adore the idea of them bonding over Sherlock. I think they'd get along quite well together, actually. :)

"Is he… _gay_?"

John's eyebrows went up. "Excuse me?"

Molly suddenly shook her head vehemently, looking mortified. "No, excuse _me_. Oh, God, I can't believe I just asked you that. It's completely none of my business."

"Are you talking about Sherlock?" John scrunched up his face, trying to appear thoughtful while hiding his smile. Showing his amusement might make her even more embarrassed. The question had startled him, but he had a hunch what her motives were for asking it.

"Never mind, really. I'm just being silly. Don't mind me."

"Okay."

The buzz of the fluorescent lights rushed to fill in the gap left by the silence. They were at the morgue once again, a place that was slowly feeling like a home-away-from-home for John, thanks to all the time he spent there. The feeling would be disturbing if he chose to dwell on it. He wisely chose not to. Life with Sherlock benefited very little from dwelling on the bizarre; he'd learned that fairly quickly.

The man in question had stepped out for the moment. After one look at the body he'd requested Molly take out for him, Sherlock muttered something to himself and then strode towards the exit. The door had just nearly shut behind him before he caught it and announced that he would be back shortly. Then he was gone, and hadn't yet returned.

"I can't tell if he is, to be honest," John said, deciding this thread of conversation was too good to let go of just yet.

Molly pressed her lips together, not taking the bait.

"You know Sherlock," he continued, scratching his head, acting as casually as possible. "Always got to be an enigma about everything. I asked him once if he had a girlfriend, but…"

"But what?" The question had burst out of her, and she seemed to instantly regret her hasty reaction. _Gotcha_ , John thought, pleased with himself.

"Well," he began, but she cut him off, looking stricken.

"No, no, you don't have to answer that."

He answered her anyway. "He said it 'wasn't his area.' His words."

"'Not his…' What? What does that mean?" All pretense of composure and disinterest were dropped now. John could see her lean forward slightly in her eagerness. It was quite endearing.

"I'm not sure," he told her honestly, with an apologetic shrug.

"He _is_ gay, then, isn't he?" She groaned, thumping her head with one hand. "Oh, God, you really know how to pick them, don't you, Molly?"

"'Pick them'?" John echoed, keeping his tone perfectly innocent.

That made her flush. "Oh, ignore what I said. Anyway, you don't have to… hide anything from me. I'm fine with it, you know, if he's gay, or whatever. That sort of thing doesn't bother me. Oh, not that it's any of my business, of course..."

"I've told you everything I know. Promise. Other than that he said he didn't have a boyfriend."

"Oh goodie, my chances are looking wonderfully now," she mumbled sullenly.

"What was that? Something about chances?"

"Oh, nothing."

He couldn't conceal his smile anymore, though it didn't matter at the moment, because Molly wasn't looking at him. She was too busy pouting at the floor. He'd feel badly about teasing her if she didn't make it so damn entertaining.

More silence passed. She had a restless air about her, and he could tell their little chat wasn't over yet.

"You know, I really was convinced he was gay," she blurted, raising her gaze to meet his. "Especially after you—oh." She stopped abruptly, biting her lip and shaking her head and grimacing. "There I go again. Sorry. I never know when to shut up."

"No, please do go on," John said, his smile fading in his curiosity. "Especially after I what?"

"Well, after you showed up."

He could feel a frown coming on. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Well, I-I figured that y-you—" she stammered, unable to finish.

"That I… what?"

"You live together, don't you? You and Sherlock? Just the two of you?"

"Yes, we do." No, it was worse than a frown. It was the beginnings of a headache.

"And the way you are with him, I thought that…"

"'The way I am with him'? I'm not any way with him!" Jesus, now he was the one getting all flustered, and for what? He struggled to keep his calm.

But Molly only raised her eyebrows imploringly, suggestively, infuriatingly.

"Hmph. You're certainly one to talk, huh?" he grumbled snappishly, in spite of himself.

Her eyebrows dropped and her face fell. John cursed himself—he should've known better. It was obvious how fragile she was when it came to Sherlock. He shouldn't have brought it out in the open like that.

"I'm sorry for running my mouth like that," she said quietly, no longer meeting his eyes.

"No, it's fine." He felt another rash of irritation, but this time it was directed at himself. He rubbed at his face, regretting ever getting himself into this. "I'm the bloke running his mouth off."

"I'm not in denial, just so you know." She peeked at him before staring off at the wall again.

"Molly. It's okay." He could sense how uncomfortable she was, and easing her discomfort would help ease his.

"And it's not like I thought he had to be gay, just because he isn't interested in me." She seemed desperate to make him understand her words. "I just thought maybe…"

"I understand."

"And then you came, and… Just, I always thought that a person would have to be in love with Sherlock Holmes to be able stand being around him. To be able to _want_ to be around him."

"So you're in love with him?" His voice was gentle, not a single trace of teasing left. He knew to tread carefully.

She hesitated, like she was mulling over her response. Then she finally spoke. " _I'm_ not in denial." The emphasis on the word _I'm_ , the implication that John was the one in denial, it should have gotten under her skin, could have riled him up again. But then there was the way she'd found the courage to look him straight in the eye, her chin lifted defiantly despite the fact that her lip quivered a little. It melted something frosty nestled deep in his chest, and it left him speechless.

They stood feet apart, facing off. But there wasn't any animosity between them. Molly broke the silence again this time.

"It's hard, isn't it? He makes it so difficult." she said, every syllable carefully woven with commiseration. He wanted to ask her what was hard, ask who makes what so difficult, keep playing dumb, keep pretending that he had nothing in common with her, nothing about which to commiserate. He might've done just that, might've kept up the denial, if Sherlock hadn't walked in right then.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here." But he wasn't asking. Sherlock never needed to ask.

For a moment, a look of horror passed between John and Molly. Had he been listening at the door? Or could he read it on their faces? It made John's heart pound to think of it, but he managed to recover before Molly did.

"We were just—"

"Irrelevant to the case. Come on, John, we have to get going. Now."

"But the body," Molly spluttered. John was surprised to hear her speak—he'd half-expected that she'd turned into marble out of shock.

"Oh. Right. Never mind that. It's all been sorted."

" _What's_ all sorted?" John asked, feeling the familiar impatience start to develop.

"Can't talk about it now. We have to _go_."

John rolled his eyes and puffed out a sigh, looking back at Molly. She was smiling faintly, though he wasn't sure at what. He smiled back.

"Sorry to run out on you like this, Molly. Thanks for getting the body for us, even though Sherlock didn't seem to find it too useful."

"Yes, thank you, Molly," Sherlock interjected brusquely and begrudgingly. "John might be too thick to observe anything, but on the contrary, I found it quite useful."

"You're welcome." Her voice had gone all fluttery, her face a little dazed, like Sherlock hadn't just sounded like an arrogant ass. John even thought he might've seen her sway a bit. Damn. Regardless of the infatuation Molly was convinced John had for Sherlock, he knew for a fact that it wouldn't seem cute on him at all, not like it did on her.

"Goodbye, Molly," John said. He could tell without looking that Sherlock bristled beside him, resenting any further delay of their depart.

Her goodbye floated out after them as they left the room, and John found himself fancying, just for a second or two, what it would feel like to be responsible for putting that kind of sheer besottedness in someone's voice. And then he found himself unable to decide which would be better to hear it from.

Molly, or Sherlock.


End file.
